Enemy of My Enemy
by Reaper of Discord
Summary: Silus "Ten" Tennison is a survivor of the the outbreak, who finds himself in Woodbury, Georgia after being rescued from a Walker attack. But something is not right about the town's leader, The Governor. Now Ten must make the choice between loyalty to the man who saved his life, or go against his will and aid a rival survivor camp in rescuing one of their loved ones.
1. Prologue

**The Walking Dead**

**"Enemy of My Enemy"**

**Part I**

* * *

_"Fall asleep to dreams of home,_  
_Where the waves are crashing._  
_The only place I've ever known,_  
_Now the future has me._  
_I see the fire in the sky,_  
_See it all around me._  
_I said the past is dead, the life I had is gone._  
_Said I won't give up,_  
_Until I see the sun_"

— "_Hold Me Now_" by RED

* * *

**Prologue**

_8 months ago..._

Fleeing for his life, Silus Nathaniel Tennison, or "Ten", as his friends had once so affectionately referred to him, solidified his pressure on the accelerator of the 2001 Ford Ranger as it gathered momentum on the asphalt veiled highway. Perspiration slowly slid down clammy cheeks, tracing an erratic path down his pale skin, finally succumbing to gravity as it reached the ridge of his mandible, free falling to the floorboards of the aged vehicle — an ever present reminder of the horror he had left behind in Vinnings, a city in the Atlanta, Georgia metropolitan area, sitting just across the Chattahoochee River from the aforementioned fallen city. Much like Atlanta, Vinnings was gone. Overrun and overtaken by the risen dead. The young teen, of only sixteen, wanted more than anything to stop. To allow his brain to process what he had witnessed back in his hometown. But the adrenaline gripping his central nervous system would simply not allow him to pry his right foot off the gas pedal.

It had all happened so fast.

Yesterday, the world had seemed to be its usual, routine self. Silus had roused himself at 6:00 am, in order to prepare for a full, laborious day at school. The school day itself had, in fact, been mostly uneventful. A teen with a knack for academics, even if he was almost completely oblivious to the world around him at times, had no foresight, whatsoever, that he would be in his current predicament in less than twenty four hours. What was even more appalling was the rate at which the initial outbreak had spread and how little information had been presented as to _why_ it had happened to begin with.

Atlanta had been evacuated first. Entire busloads of fleeing refugees swarmed the narrowed canals that comprised the state of Georgia's highway system. People with their families and friends, with not even the slightest clue where to begin to look for safety, desperately trying to escape as the National Guard swept in to quell the undead uprising. A reasonable majority of those efforts, regrettably, had been in vain. The young teen was now seeing evidence of that everywhere, as he at last eased off the acceleration to maneuver carefully around a crashed minivan. There were hundreds of vehicles just like it littering the interstate. Those that were fortunate enough to have damaged their craniums beyond repair, when they crashed, remained among the dead, still trapped in their metallic tombs. But that wasn't the case for the majority.

Their fate had been far worse.

Upon death, their corpses had risen from their eternal slumber to walk again — feeding ravenously on the living for no apparent reason. A fate far worse than death, in his mind, at least.

Silus's own family had succumb to this horrifying fate. In fact, in yet another cruel twist of Fate's wheel, it was how the juvenile had been personally introduced to the apocalypse. While his father, ever the gun-clinging Southerner that he was, attempted to salvage as much as he could for their home, just prior to the family's attempt at fleeing the metropolitan area, one of the Creepers had stumbled in to the family's yard. At this point, so early into the initial outbreak, the glaring weakness of the undead—that of their brains—had not yet been discovered. Or, if it had been, it had not spread to the majority of the survivors in time. His brother, the middle-child, Jacob, had been bitten first. It wasn't like they hadn't _tried_ to stop it. It was just that, no matter what they tried—shooting it, attempting to break it's legs with a metal pole, even Silus's attempts to put it down with his prized possession, a battle-ready _nodaichi_ he had bought himself with his savings several years ago—had hindered it. Surprisingly, no one had thought to go for the head. In her heroic attempts to save her son, Silus's mother had been the second to fall: having her upper forearm bitten as she attempted to pry the decrepit creature off of her youngest son. In the pandemonium, the family, or rather, what was left of them, didn't notice the second Creeper enter the yard. Well, Silus's youngest sibling, his sister Rachel, had. Silus's would've been the third victim that day had it not been for her last act of bravery, shoving him out of the way as the Creeper lunged. Unfortunately, that resulted in her violent, gory end.

He never knew the exact details of his father's demise.

Tears clouding his vision at having lost most of his family in one fell swoop, Silus's overwhelming fear and all-consuming sadness propelled him into action, causing him to sprint away from the two Creepers, whose attention was now on their newly acquired feast. By then, others were beginning to arrive, and it was only a matter of time before the house was completely overrun. His father, guns or no guns, wouldn't stand a chance against the growing horde. Silus's decision to run, leaving his father to his own gruesome end, rather than risk being cannibalized by rushing into the house to search for him, would be a decision that would haunt him for a _long_ time to come. In his young mind, it had been the ultimate act of cowardice. But more importantly...

Betrayal.

His father had been a major proponent of the saying "_Blood runs thicker than water_", a line from the Bible, but if you had asked him, Silus would never be able to remember where to find it. Even now, as he continued to force the clunker of a truck to its absolute limits, he could feel the icy sense of dread, that leaving his father had brought him, creeping through his veins like a terminal cancer, poised for the kill. And now, like so many others before him, many of which had perished on this very road, Silus had no where to go.

So, with the only goal in his head being to get as far away from the infested metropolitan area, the teenager continued down once familiar roads into the icy, heartless glow of the night moon.

* * *

Determining the passage of time, after the Turn, was almost pointless for the now-stranded Silus.

His cell phone had long since died and he had no watch, having not been a fan of wearing one before shit hit the fan, or any other means of telling what time it was, nor how much time had passed since he had left Vinnings. Nevertheless, at some point after his frightened flight from his hometown, the Ford Ranger he had acquired to aid in his escape had run out of precious fuel, leaving him stranded not even ten feet away from the city limits of Tomaston, Georgia—the central city of Upson County, located just about sixty-four miles south of Atlanta. If the stranded teen could have his way, he would've simply remained put in the broken down vehicle, waiting until death greeted him, either in the form of starvation, hypothermia, or even one of the reanimated dead. He had been erratically driving all over the countryside surrounding the Atlanta area for God knows how long, searching for some sign of remaining human life without any results, and things were looking more and more hopeless by the day.

But hunger was a powerful motivator, and so it was that he set off on foot towards the likely dead-infested settlement of Tomaston.

As he moved, making sure his movements were as muted as possible, to prevent attracting any unwanted attention from the dead, the teen made sure that the only possession, other than the clothes on his back, that he had managed to take away from his home—his prized sword—was strapped tightly to his belt via an assortment of straps that attached to the elegant weapon's sheath.

The city was eerily quiet. Gone were the sound of motor vehicles whizzing by as the citizens of Tomaston made their way to work, school, or some other place of business. Gone were the voices of the bustling populous talking about this or that as they traced the paved sidewalks towards whatever destination awaited them in their daily lives. In a way, the silence was the most unsettling part of the post-apocalyptic world. Where once, the sheer noise of an American city was enough to drive any sane human being absolutely off their rocker, the sound of utter silence had an even more maddening effect.

"_I don't think I'll ever get used to this._" the cold and crestfallen teen thought to himself as he surveyed the desolate streets.

Silus had never been to Tomaston in his life, despite only living a little over an hour away from it, which complicated his search for essential supplies. That concern, however, was quickly swept away as he rounded a corner, spotting the signature blue roofing of a Wal-Mart just over a large set of shrubs on the adjacent street. In swift, but ever so silent motions, Silus cleared the street and walked around the dense shrubbery, bringing him to the outer edges of the Wal-Mart parking lot. The sight, unfortunately, was an all too familiar one, even just a day after civilization had come to a shrieking halt.

Abandoned vehicles were strewn about the parking lot by the dozens, the remnants of an attempt those trying to flee the outbreak, who had tried to raid the Supercenter for its food, water, clothing, and medical supplies. Garbage freely floated, as the wind commanded it, across the once clear pavement and, in the distance, glass littered the immediate vicinity of the store, where some of the more desperate survivors had shattered the windows in an attempt to climb into the stores, rather than enter in the traditional sense—through the electronic front doors.

Sighing to himself, Silus placed his dominant hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, ready in case a swarm of Creepers decided to make their way into the parking lot, and began his trek towards the Supercenter. It was almost laughable that this abandoned Wal-Mart had become a shining ray of hope to the teen in the aftermath of outbreak. As a boy of sixteen years of age, Silus had been made, by his traditionalist parents, to get a job shortly after his birthday the previous December. It had been at a similar Wal-Mart Supercenter in Vinnings, where he had worked at a cashier, and had become a place he despised more than any other on the planet. The thought of this irony brought a smirk to the teens face, the first in over twenty-four hours, but one that didn't last.

Glass shards crunched beneath his tennis shoes as he made his way up to the entrance of the Wal-Mart. The electrical doors, which had previously opened as a potential customer neared them, were frozen slightly ajar, likely due to the absence of electricity. Like the windows of the Supercenter, the glass that comprised a majority of the doors were shattered, as a way to bypass having to pry them open. Luckily for Silus, this provided him a convenient means of entry, ducking under the sharp shards that still outlined the upper frame of the door, and stepping into the store. Light filtered into the store from the scattered skylights that adorned its ceilings, making it fairly easy to make out where he was going despite the lack of electricity. Silus immediately made his way towards the luggage isles, stepping over fallen racks and scattered merchandise in the process, in order to retrieve a basic backpack for carrying anything he may find that was useful. Luckily, there were plenty to chose from, but that was hardly the issue.

Much of the shelves were empty.

From the looks of it, what hadn't been taken during the initial outbreak had been ransacked in the days since by those who were fortunate to stumble upon this treasure trove of supplies before Silus's arrival. Even still, they hadn't been able to take _everything_, and so Silus set to work grabbing canned food, a reasonable supply of water bottles, and what few medical supplies he could salvage from the wreckage. All of this activity, however, had masked the subtle shuffling noises coming from one of the darker isles—its rancid smell masked by the stench of rotting meat in broken freezers and rotten perishables. It wasn't until the Creeper snarled, snapping Silus from his daze. Unfortunately, the sudden realization that he was being preyed upon, coupled with the rapid turn had made him clumsy, as he accidentally backed over a fallen clothing rack, sending him sprawling backwards across the tiled floor, inadvertently spilling his backpack's contents in the process.

"Fuck!" the teen cried out in shock, loud enough to echo across the entire store.

This only seemed to galvanize the undead monster, who continued to advance towards the fallen teenager, still snapping and snarling, reaching out with decayed hands as it desperately tried to make him its next meal. In an act of survival and instinct, Silus gripped his sword's hilt, which was still firmly attached to his side, tugging the blade free of its wood prison. The light drifting in from above managed to catch the metal of the sword, producing a brilliant flash of light as Silus jabbed upward at the advancing Creeper, catching the once-human creature in its left chest cavity, where the heart should be. Why he thought that eluded him, but, to his great dismay, the sword had only briefly hindered the monster from reaching him, holding it at blade's length away from him.

"Dammit!" he cursed loudly. "What does it take to _kill_ these things?"

In desperation, he delivered a swift kick to the creature's lower leg, just below its kneecap, sending it spiraling downward. The sudden interruption allowed him the precious time he needed to get back to his feet, wrenching the blade from its chest, and spilling blood and decaying skin matter onto the floor around it. The Creeper hissed in frustration, reaching up with its bloody, decayed hands to grasp at the ridges of his shirt. Without thinking, Silus plunged the sword down a second time, this time striking the creature in it face, right between the nose and the upper lip. Miraculously, the monster ceased to move, arms dropping lifelessly.

"_The head!_" he exclaimed to himself mentally, as the revelation struck him._  
_

Spinning around, sweat beginning to drip profusely from his neck and face, as adrenaline once more took over, Silus began to furiously scan the area for his backpack. Instead, he was met with the sight of four more Creepers, which had been drawn to his location by the scuffle with the first, were clambering their way out from the nearby isles, approaching from all sides. To make matters worse, there were now loud _banging_ noises coming from the far end of the store, out of the teen's sight. Realizing he was both outnumbered and outmatched, fear taking over, Silus bolted back towards the entrance. However, the woes of the store's disgruntled state struck again, as his foot catches and slides across a fluid substance that was covering a small area of tile he was running through, causing him, embarrassingly, and for the second time, slamming into the ground. This time, however, his head struck a nearby display.

Hard.

Silus couldn't even feel fear as darkness began to consume his vision.

"_Fuck..._" he cursed mentally to himself, as his consciousness slipped away, unable to hear the loud shouts and gunshots ringing out through the retail facility.

* * *

"Dr. Stevens, he's waking up!"

It was a female's voice piercing through the haze of darkness clouding Silus's mind. He was trying to open his eyes, but they seemed less than responsive to his commands. It didn't help that his cranium was throbbing with the most terrible dagger-like pain he had _ever_ experienced in his life. There is a sound of a door opening and closing, along with soft, methodical footsteps approaching Silus's motionless form.

"You'd better go and get the Governor." Its another female's voice. "He'll want to speak to him."

More footsteps, a door opening again, followed by a loud _SLAM!_ This sudden jolt of noise sent a new wave of searing pain crashing over Silus's skull, causing him to clench his jaw in agony. As the pain slowly subsided, however, his vision began to improve, and what had been a mass of blurring, disoriented colors and shapes, began to reassemble into the form of what appeared to be a small doctor's office. Looming over him is a petite, bespectacled African American woman, dressed in a dark-colored shirt.

Upon noticing his attempts to survey his surroundings, she offers him a sweet smile, "Take it easy, son." she coos.

"_Yeah, no problem, lady._" Silus jabbed mentally. At least _that _part of him was firmly intact.

"Are you feeling any pain or discomfort?" the she-doctor continued.

"_You're kidding, right?_" he wanted to say. Instead, he only managed a weak nod, attempting to gesture towards his head.

"Oh," she replied in realization. "I'd imagine that would hurt. From what I've heard, you took quite a tumble."

Suddenly, there is a sharp, stinging sensation as the woman presses a cottony substance to Silus's forehead—clearly the location where his head had impacted the store display.

"Ack!" Silus finally cries out, his voice hoarse and loud.

The woman makes a stifled chuckle, "I'm sorry, I should've warned you I was going to do that. I am just cleaning the gash. You wouldn't want to get an infection." she explained.

Before the teenager could come up with yet another sarcastic, mental response, the door to the tiny office opened yet again, letting in a brown haired man, dressed in a long-sleeve black, button down shirt, a pair of brown slacks, and military-style brown boots. Though disoriented, Silus could only assume that this was the "Governor" that he had heard the first voice mention when he had first awoken from his coma.

"You look like you've seen better days, sport." the Governor observed in a joking manner.

"Trust me," Silus replied, his voice still gruff and hoarse from his parched throat. "I have."

The Governor's mouth curled into a grin, and he let a low chuckle rumble up from his stomach. Even under these circumstances, teenagers could be witty and sarcastic.

"Where am I?" Silus managed, still looking around the room with slight bewilderment.

"Some place safe." the Governor replied in a matter-of-fact manner. "You're lucky to be alive. The Biters almost got you back at that Wal-Mart."

"_Oh yeah... that._" Silus thought, remembering his near-fatal encounter with the Creepers back at the retailer, causing his head to throb.

"My people saw you fall when they entered the store and took care of the Biters, then brought you back here when they realized you were still alive." the older man continued, now pacing the floor beside the teen.

"Thank you for that." Silus wheezed.

"There's no need to thank me." the Governor replied, physically waving off his offer of thanks. "Never leave someone behind. That's our policy."

Silence fell over the room. Silus noticed that the Governor was silently observing him from across the room, as if he were sizing up a potential threat. Not that Silus could do much damage in his current state. His arms and legs felt like Jello and the pain in his head continued to drill further and further down into his skull. He was surprised he had managed to stay conscious through it all.

"You said I was somewhere safe," the teenager finally spoke again. "H-...How do you know its safe?"

The Governor took his time concocting his response, striding over to a sofa which was leaned against the farthest wall in the room, facing Silus's bed, and sat on its armrest.

"We're a walled community." the older man responded cryptically. "Nobody goes in or out without one of our sentries noticing and we pick off any Biters that stumble upon us long before they reach our walls."

The teen managed a chuckle of disbelief, "Its hard to believe anywhere is truly safe anymore." he admitted.

The Governor nodded in agreement, "I can't blame you for feeling that way, but I assure you, it _is_ safe here. I've seen to it personally." he replied. "And once you recover, you can see for yourself."

The man stood again, drawing himself up to his full height, before crossing the small room to the bed in which Silus was laying, looming over him in a similar fashion to the way the female doctor had just minutes prior. His face was serious, blank, expressionless. Even were Silus's cognitive functions working as they should, he doubted that he could have read the man's true motives. The Governor then offered him a small pat on the shoulder and a soft smile.

"Get to feeling better." he said. "I'll make sure Dr. Stevens fixes you up. When you're ready, I'll personally show you around our town and you can make the decision on whether or not you'd like to stay here and join our growing little family."

The Governor reached for the doorknob, pulling the door only slightly open before looking up, as if he had remembered something he had forgotten.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you." he notes. "What's your name, son?"

"Silus. Silus Tennison, but everyone used to just call me Ten." the teen replies, as fatigue begins to take its toll once again.

"Well, Ten." the Governor replies, choosing to use his nickname over his given name. "Welcome to Woodbury."


	2. Chapter 1: Breakthrough

Minor note: Silus, the OC character, will be referred to by his nickname of "Ten" from here on out, since that is what other characters will call him, to prevent confusion. Speaking of confusion, I left it rather ambiguous in the Prologue, but this will be an AU (Alternate Universe) story, where Carl gets taken and interrogated in Woodbury (whereas it is Glenn and Michonne in the novels/comics and Glenn and Maggie in the television show). The story still follows the same basic plot as the television show, but has some differences. Some, like this, are major changes, and others not so major. Carl being taken is pivotal to how this story takes its turns in the future.

Anyways, Hope you enjoy!

**Side note:** I am editing this just after watching the Mid Season Finale for Season 4. All my tears for Hershel. I will definitely be dedicating him a chapter in the future. Speaking of Season 4, I should note, for all who may be curious, that this story will at _least_ reach that particularly episode (give or take a few unique situations, given the nature of this story as an AU), but may go further depending on how popular this gets.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**"Breakthrough"**

* * *

The nights were the worst.

In the eight months since Ten had come to Woodbury, the now seventeen-year old teenager had come to dread the long, grueling hours that came after curfew. His dreams had been constantly inhabited by horrific visions of his father being torn, limb-from-limb, by a ravenous pack of Biters, as they swarmed his home in Vinnings, Georgia, after having been abandoned there by no other than Ten himself. Tonight had been no different. Drenched in perspiration and now sitting upright in a chaotic arrangement of blankets, which had been skewered from their original organized form due to Ten's violent thrashing during the night terror. Night after night he had been forced to endure the guilt of having left his father. At first he had tried to avoid sleep, but in a town where the emergency generators, which supplied its power during the day, were shut off shortly after curfew, there was little to do but lie on his bed and stare endlessly at the white ceilings. On rare occasions, he would drift off into that dark abyss of unconsciousness, light as a feather, and be drawn into a false pretense of security, only to be violently awakened—heart racing, throat constricted, stomach muscles clenched, and the fluttering feeling of butterfly wings in his abdomen—in indescribable fear.

And so, as it were on every such occasion, the teenager found himself sitting at a small, round, wooden table in the kitchenette of his Woodbury apartment, staring aimlessly into space, as he tried to down a glass of ice water.

If tonight were like the others, dawn would be soon anyways. There was no point in putting himself through another night terror just to gain an additional hour or two of sleep. At least, that's the reasoning he used to convince himself to avoid sleep at all costs. Despite the terrifying nights, however, life in Woodbury had been very good to him over the past several months since he had been rescued, from certain death, in that Wal-Mart. He had not been told, by the Governor or otherwise, exactly how many survivors now called Woodbury "home", but he guessed maybe sixty to seventy, scraped from all over the Georgia countryside. Everyone in Woodbury had their own survival stories, stories of heroics, of bravery, and some, funnily enough, of sheer stupidity that lead to pure, dumb luck. Of course, not everyone's stories were fortunate. There were others that told of horrors beyond one's wildest imagination—death was always a centerpiece of those stories.

And lots of it.

By now, sounds were starting to emerge outside the apartment's walls, as the Governor and his men began their morning patrol of the enclosed town, just as they always did. Ten had to admit, the Governor was an interesting character. Charismatic, a brilliant speaker, and benevolent. How the older man had managed to keep a town like this running for eight months, whilst the world burned down, was beyond the young man's comprehension. There was one thing, however, he was for sure of.

The Governor gave him chills.

He could never place why, whether it was paranoia born out of having lost everyone he loved in a single instant, or some other, underlying feature, but the simple fact of the matter was, the Governor gave him the willies. No one in Woodbury knew their beloved leader's name, place of origin, previous occupation. Nothing. His history was a black hole. To Ten, who liked to know as much as possible about everyone he interacted with these days, it was unnerving to know so little about someone he was supposed to entrust his life to. But, he had no choice.

The man was keeping him safe by allowing him to stay in Woodbury, and, above all, he _had _saved his life. Or at least, his men had, and for that, he was still ever so grateful. Whatever the case, Ten knew that curfew would be ending soon enough, and people would be roused from their sleep to go about their daily chores for the camp. And so, with that in mind, he slipped off to his small apartment bathroom to begin preparing for the day ahead of him.

It would be a long one.

* * *

"Hello, Ten!" a friendly voice greets as Ten makes his way to the Governor's residence.

It was Annabelle, one of the community's few elderly residents. In the months since Ten had joined the Woodbury community, Annabelle had taken quite a liking to Ten, frequently inviting him over to her apartment to play dominoes, or some other manner of simplistic game, after the workday had ended. Whenever she would seem him around town, she would make it a point to wave to him and greet him in a manner similar to how she had just done. Ten didn't mind the kind attention one bit. It reminded him of the times when he was little, back before the Turn, when he would visit his great-grandmother in Atlanta, and spend time playing "Chicken Foot", a variation of dominoes, with her for hours on end. But today, he could not indulge her wishes to stop for a friendly chat. The Governor had requested him specifically, which is what brought him to the building which contained the personal apartment of the man-in-charge.

The shade of the small stairway, leading to the Governor's abode, felt good in the heat of the Georgia afternoon. Ten had been out of his own apartment no longer than twenty minutes and already he could feel his skin moistening with sweat beneath the sun's relentless rays. The Governor must've heard him coming up the rather loud, metal stairs, because he opened the faded front door to his residence before the youth had even a chance to knock, as he usually did when he visited the town's leader.

"Ah, Ten." the Governor greeted him with a smirk, slapping him across the shoulder affectionately, a gesture of goodwill the youth had come to expect from the older gentleman. "Good of you to come. Please, come in and make yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir." Ten replied respectfully. _Sir_. That was a word he hadn't used in a long time. It almost felt awkward tripping off of his tongue, but the teenager knew it was a necessary honorific. That, and as awkward as saying "_sir__" _had felt, walking around calling him "Governor" was even more awkward. Almost to the point of absurdity.

The Governor's apartment was much nicer than the other residences used by the survivors in Woodbury. Ten had seen its interior only a few times, but it was hard to forget the spacious complex of rooms, adorned with expensive pieces of furniture, artwork, and other manner of frivolous things. It almost seemed gluttonous, in the skeptical eyes of the teen, to concern oneself with material possessions, such as the Governor had adorning his spacious foyer, in this hellish day and age. The youth made his way into the main room, shaking his head of distracting thoughts, taking a seat on the sofa nearest the front window, where he could have a view of the town as the townspeople went about their daily lives, as if death wasn't relentlessly on the prowl just outside their walls. The Governor returned shortly, carrying a glass of soda, which he handed to the young man before taking a seat in a small armchair adjacent to him. Ten thanked the man for the beverage and took a courtesy sip before giving him a quizzical look.

"So, what is it you needed from me, sir?" he finally asked. There was that word again, though he hardly noticed it this time. He was simply dying to know what the man could want with him.

In the time since Ten had arrived in Woodbury, he had gone on none of the supply runs with the other older men. The horrors he had seen in that Wal-Mart in Tomaston, eight months prior, had been more than enough Biter sightings for him. He wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, Ten had kept his presence in the town rather low key. He helped with the arbitrary chores around the town, and mostly kept out of sight. It was for this reason that he found it so curious that the Governor had called on him specifically for whatever he had in mind. It seemed more likely that he'd pick one of his more loyal supporters, who frequently engaged in the more taxing and dangerous activities, to do specific tasks for him, rather than a disoriented teen like Ten.

"I need a favor of you, Ten." the Governor replied, his usual gruff voice betraying a sense of amusement at the teen's curiosity. "Martinez thinks he's located the wreckage of a downed military helicopter a few miles from here. We think it may have crashed recently, because one of the sentries spotted a similar craft this morning while I was making my morning sweep of the town."

A helicopter?

Ten didn't remember hearing the familiar sound of a chopper flying over the town that morning, but then again, he had been rather... preoccupied. He was more puzzled by the presence of a helicopter anywhere near Woodbury. Were they National Guard? Rescue patrols? The more and more he processed the prospective, the more depressed he was that the helicopter was now crashed, and likely overrun by Biters.

"What does that have to do with me?" Ten pressed further, proving his curiosity.

"Well, Martinez was going to organize a run to salvage any supplies we can get from the wreckage. Maybe check and see if there are any survivors while we're at it." the older man replied, getting straight to the point. "He's a little short on volunteers, so I was hoping you might be able to go along. Give him a bit of a hand."

Martinez. That name alone killed any enthusiasm Ten had originally possessed for this mission. If there was one member of Woodbury that Ten despised the most, it was Martinez—a short, yet muscular, Hispanic man, with an ego to rival the worst of politicians. He fancied himself the Governor's top dog, a cozy position he shared with Merle, perhaps the only person in Woodbury that could be considered more vile than Martinez. The two were nothing but thugs in Ten's perspective, but he didn't dare air that view out loud. The two men were notorious for being ruthless and relentless to their hecklers. The youth wasn't sure whether he could endure an entire day on a run with Martinez, but a request from the Governor was not one easily refused, and so the odds were stacked against him from the beginning.

"Sure thing." Ten sighed, giving in after a few moments of silence. "Who else is going?"

"Just yourself, Martinez, Brian, and Crowley." the Governor remarked, sounding particularly annoyed all of a sudden. "Like I said, we're low on volunteers. You four are all I've got. I have Merle on wall duty, keeping the Biters out today."

That was unusual.

Like Martinez, Merle usually did all of the Governor's dirty work. Everything from runs to managing the town. Neither of the two were hardly ever on wall duty. Especially not Merle, who preferred to drink the day away just outside the abandoned McDonalds in Woodbury. Still, Ten wasn't about to complain. It was bad enough he was having to accompany Martinez. Martinez and Merle together would be enough to make him consider rescinding his commitment to the mission and facing whatever backlash that may result. In fact, he was pretty sure that, short of being forced to leave Woodbury, he'd do just about anything to avoid having to do anything, or go anywhere, with the two of them together.

"Martinez will probably be gathering at the west gate in an hour or so." the Governor continued, breaking the silence between them. "Why don't you head back to your place, grab a bite to eat, and then meet him there before y'all head out?"

With some trepidation, Ten nodded his head quickly, "You've got it."

The Governor shot out his hand, offering a handshake to the youth, clearly pleased with that answer. Ten reluctantly reached out and grasped the man's hand, giving him a firm shake before releasing. That simple skin-on-skin contact was all it had taken to send a chill through the teen's veins. There was just something not right with the man. Something in his eyes. Something that made you think he _wanted_ to care for you, when deep down, you knew at your core that he didn't. And it was with this in mind that Ten subconsciously gulped.

"You're a good kid, Ten." the Governor praised him, patting him on the back for the second time that day. "I can always count on you."

Another chill. It was something the man did to everyone in Woodbury. Praise them, but then there was always that underlying feeling of an ulterior motive. Like he was just buttering you up so that you'd do exactly as he instructed you to do. It never ceased to give Ten a nagging suspicion that there was more going on behind the scenes that the Governor wasn't telling him about. Something wasn't adding up. Asking him, rather than Merle, to go on a run, despite the fact that Ten himself had never been on one; especially one with such low manpower, where experience, rather than the lack thereof, would be necessary in order to ensure success.

The older man rose from his armchair, glancing down at Ten's glass of soda, which was still full, for the most part. "Oh, and you can take that with you if you'd like." he added, motioning to the glass, before walking out of the room, leaving the youth alone to his thoughts.

Ten took a moment to let the information all sink in, taking a rather large gulp of his refreshment as he did, before sighing.

"_Today is going to be a **long **day._" he thought to himself.

If he only knew.

* * *

Philip Blake, known and loved by all in Woodbury as "the Governor", was not a man one would ever assume was hiding a demon inside.

Even now, as he watched the teenager cross the street, headed back to his apartment to consume some manner of lunch prior to his assignment, he appeared completely normal. A benevolent leader seeming to want to watch and make sure the youth made it safely out of his sight. His intentions were much darker, however. The sound of footsteps entering the room from one of the lesser side rooms of the Governor's apartment drew his attention away from the window. It was Martinez, who had been waiting, as instructed, in the other room of Philip's lavish residence until just such a moment.

"Do you really think this is a good idea, boss?" the Hispanic queried, shooting his leader a worried look. "That guy is still a kid. I don't want any dead weight."

"You needed help," Philip replied firmly. "So, I got you help. He's an able bodied individual and a man in everything but title. He'll get the job done. Besides, I need Merle for a little project of mine."

The way the Governor emphasized the word "project" caused Martinez to gulp. Unlike the younger adolescent that had stood before the Governor just moments before, Martinez was no stranger to the leader's darker side. He _knew_ the man was more than what he appeared to be capable of, and it was that carnal side of him that had appealed to Martinez when he had first met the Governor, not long after the Turn. That didn't mean, however, that he was always comfortable with the Governor's ways. Even now, as he watched the Governor's lips curl into a twisted grin of grim satisfaction, Martinez could feel his abdominal organs twisting. Whatever the leader was planning, for once, he wanted no part of, making him glad he was organizing this run in the first place; Merle or no Merle.

"Whatever you say boss." the younger man relented. "What do you want me to do if there _are_ any survivors."

"You bring them back here where I can properly interrogate them." the Governor commanded, sudden coldness in voice. "I don't need the National Guard busting in here and ruining the peace I've managed to maintain for so long. Perhaps they can tell us where their friends are waiting for them. There will be ample food and medical supplies where they're located. And weapons."

This answer seemed to suffice to the younger man, because Martinez nodded in agreement. He had long since decided that he wasn't going to argue the Governor's judgement. Things were just simpler that way.

"Don't let me down, Martinez." Philip added, slapping the man across the back before heading towards his bedroom.

He left Martinez to his thoughts. The younger man was one of his most loyal subordinates, even if he wasn't the sharpest tool in the tool shed. He'd do the job, even if he questioned it, and would do it to perfection. Of that, Philip Blake had no doubt. As he rounded the corner, securing the door tightly behind him, he crossed into his private living area, which sat adjacent to his bedroom, where a snarl coming from a makeshift pen in its corner drew his attention.

Penny Blake.

His heat. His soul. His entire world. And most importantly, his daughter. Or at least, she had been. Penny Blake is a wretched, vile perversion of her former self. Her skin has paled and sagged with decay. Her eyes turned from their once beautiful emerald color to an ugly burnt yellow, consumed with beastly hunger. Penny's once lush, dark hair was now falling out in large wads, mixed with large pockets of dead skin, exposing her decayed scalp. Even now, as she caught sight of her still living father, her actions were consumed by the ravenous hunger within her, snarls, growls, and barks ushering from her decayed mouth, as she tugged against the chains that bound her, in her futile effort to devour the man who had once had part in her conception.

The sight of his daughter, twisted and perverted by the relentless plague now taking over the Earth, utterly broke Philip Blake's heart. In his mind, she was consumed by a nefarious illness. After all, there was no way that _his_ daughter, his princess, the one person he loved most in this world, could be gone. There was _no way_ that this... this... dead _thing_ could be all that was left of the sweet little girl that had once called him "Daddy". For Philip Blake, that reality was worse than the reality unfolding outside Woodbury's walls. There had to be hope for a cure.

For the world's sake.

For Penny's sake.

For _his_ sake.

But he was wrong. Penny Blake is dead. The sweet little girl he loved had died long ago, replaced by a flesh-eating monster wearing her skin. That's all that was left of the old Penny Blake—a fleshy exoskeleton, that gave the monster she had become her appearance. Philip opened a small mini-refrigerator next to her pin, ignoring the sound of her rotting teeth gnashing together as she tried, once more, in vain, to take out a chunk of his flesh. The smell emanating from the refrigerator was the same decaying, rotting, filth that Penny reeked of, but Philip had become used to the smell. He retrieved a small bowl, containing a cold, fleshy substance, before kicking the door shut. With slight trepidation, he opened the door to the dead girl's cell, causing the little monster to rush forward only to be jerked back by the chain around her neck. The creature cried out in frustration as it continued to reach what had been its father. Philip ignored this outburst, sitting the bowl of fresh flesh down at the dead girl's feet.

"Dinner time, sweetie."

* * *

_You don't ever really notice how truly short an hour is until you **don't** want to do_ something.

That statement rings in Ten's head as he once again trundles out of his apartment, jogging down two flights of stairs onto to the smooth concrete sidewalks of Woodbury, to set off on the run with Martinez. Rather than eat, as the Governor had suggested, he had filled up his last hour trying to come up with some excuse—any excuse—to get him out of having to go on this mission. Nothing he had come up with, however, would have caused the Governor to abdicate him from his responsibilities, however, and so, now, he was forced to suck up the immense urge he had to lock himself in his apartment, and not come out for the remainder of the day, to meet Martinez at the west gate as promised. Sure enough, the stubby thug and Crowley, a very thin, very pale man, who often helped on the Governor's runs, were already there, discussing the details of the mission at hand. Both men were armed with AR-15 semiautomatic weapons. Ten, on the other hand, was armed with only his sword.

And that was all he was _going_ to use.

Growing up, his father had been a gun fanatic, always trying to get Ten to go out with him and practice shooting in the wilderness on the weekends. There was just one problem with that. Well, two. One, Ten had no interest in firing guns of any kind. Not that he was fearful of them, but because he just wasn't interested in them whatsoever. Two, Ten was a _terrible_ shot. It was hard enough for the youth to hit a motionless target twenty feet away, much less a moving target that planned on eating him if it were able to get close enough. Ten felt confident with his sword. In control. And so, despite the ridicule he often got from the other men in Woodbury, including Martinez, that was his go-to weapon of choice. _Always_.

"About time you showed up, Tennison." Martinez barked, breaking off his conversation with Crowley.

That was another thing that Ten hated about Martinez. He always referred to him by his full last name. Even the Governor had the common courtesy to use his nickname. Still, it was nothing worth starting shit over, and certainly not when the Governor was already making him feel uneasy, so the youth simply pretended as though Martinez had never opened his large, arrogant mouth.

"Do you need help getting anything else prepared?" Ten offered, trying to spare himself torment by getting on Martinez's good side.

"Nah," Martinez replied, shaking his head. "Crowley and I had some extra time beforehand, so we went ahead and took care of the prep. We're all ready to roll. You?"

"I'm ready when you're ready." Ten replied, shrugging. "Where's Brian?"

"Already loaded up."

Five minutes later, sitting in the backseat of the Jeep they were using for travel, Ten was outside the safety of Woodbury's walls for the first time in eight months.

It was surreal getting to see the outside world again. He had almost forgotten what it had looked like. Only, it looked nothing like he remembered whatsoever. The outside world was trashed. Debris, garbage, fallen trees, and decomposing bodies, among other things, all littered the streets. It was truly the apocalypse, in every sense of the word. Every now and then, the Jeep would whiz by a Biter or two, but the men mostly ignored their presence. Woodbury sat a good twenty miles from what was known as the "Red Zone"—an inhospitable area where Biters were grouped _en masse _and herds formed overnight. The Governor widely viewed this area as suicidal to enter. There were actually several "Red Zones" that he had identified, but none of the others were close enough for him to worry about just yet. If he was confident in sending out only four men on this run, then Ten could find comfort in the fact that they were going nowhere near the Red Zone, and thus, would have very little Biters to worry about.

At least, that's what he told himself.

The trip was shorter than he had expected, as the smoke of the wreckage rose over an outcropping of trees. Martinez veered the Jeep off the main road, driving into a grassy field and bringing the vehicle to a halt just outside the treeline. The three men clambered out of the Jeep, grabbing their weapons and surveying the area before preparing to press on.

"Remember the objectives." Martinez reminded them in a hushed tone. "Food, medical supplies, weapons, and ammunition. If there are any survivors, you let me know."

But there _were_ no survivors.

The wreckage of the downed United States National Guard helicopter was a horrific sight to behold. Flames still marred much of the brush around it, causing a suffocating smoke, that seared the throats and eyes of all who encountered it, to rise high into the Georgian afternoon sky. Bodies littered the ground, most of them in pieces. A few had already reanimated, clawing the ground as living prey entered their vicinity. Ten made short work of the one closest him, delivering a swift jab to the skull that rendered it completely silent. Martinez and Crowley disposed of two more in a similar manner, using two machete they had brought along in addition to their firearms. Martinez was the first to locate salvageable supplies in the form of a fairly decent sized trunk containing all manner of medical supplies. Ten, in the meantime, searched the charred corpses for surviving weapons, ammunition, electronic devices, and other useful equipment. As he searched, his eyes teared up at the increasingly rancid odor of burning flesh.

"Looks like Uncle Sam didn't leave us much to work with." Martinez finally announced. "You find anything, Tennison?"

"Just a few clips of ammo and their handguns. Not much left of the heavier weaponry." Ten replied, finally covering his mouth and nose from the stench.

"Quit being such a pussy, Ten." Crowley teased, a sinister grin crawling across his face upon noticing Ten's reaction to the odor.

Ten grimaced, "You try searching burning corpses. See how you like the stench." the youth retorted.

"This is probably all we're gettin'." Martinez declared. "Let's load it up and get back to Woodbury."

The bad thing about most bad odors, is that they cling to clothing. And so, the whole way back to Woodbury, Ten was tormented by the scent of burning flesh searing his nostrils. Hilariously ironic when one considered that burning is exactly what he was going to be doing to this particular outfit when he got back to his home.

"_I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to that stench._" Ten cursed to himself.

The Woodbury patrol never saw the eyes peering at them from the nearby brush as they continued the short drive back to their camp. Once they were at a safe distance, the figure which had been watching them eased out of the shadows like a phantom, now standing in the center of the road.

And then it began to follow their tracks.

* * *

Philip Blake hated getting bad news.

But bad news that was expected was an entirely different matter. He sat in his foyer for the second time that day, in the same armchair as he had previously sat in while speaking to Ten. Only, this time, Merle was sitting on the adjacent sofa, wearing an arrogant grin on his wrinkled, pale face. The Governor, on the other hand, did not look so amused. His earlier confrontation with the dead thing that he thought was his daughter had left him in a particularly foul mood, despite the news that was being delivered to him. To make matters worse, the Governor wasn't too pleased that it had to be Merle who gave him this news. At least, not while he was till in the bad mood he was in. Though Merle considered himself one of the Governor's right hand men, he was among the aforementioned leader's least favorite people. Ever. Far too full of himself, throwing around unnecessary weight, that the didn't necessarily have in the first place, and he was scum when it came to dealing with people. The scum of the earth.

But Philip never revealed that to him. For all Merle's flaws, he was a capable soldier, and efficient. And so, the Governor feigned friendship in order to continue eliciting his services.

"Repeat that again." Philip demanded. "You captured a _what _at our gates?"

"A child." Merle repeated, almost proudly. "A boy to be exact."

"And why exactly would an orphaned child be anything to report to me about?" Philip asked.

Only, Philip already knew the answer to this question. At least, the answer he cared about, anyways. Woodbury was running low on supplies. The winter had wiped them out and it wouldn't be long before the pleasant sheep living within it began to moan and complain about their rations, which would mean an even bigger headache for the Governor. To make matters worse, their ammo reserves were beginning to thin, and with an absence of any former military presence in the area and, due to the fact that most of the retailers that had previously sold ammo having being looted, Woodbury was running out of places to procure its supplies. And so, Philip had made a very controversial order. Well, controversial if it ever got out to the good people of Woodbury, but to Philip himself, it was an order of survival.

His order was simple: capture any survivor groups passing through the area, or any that looked like they were out on a supply run. He could then interrogate them, locate their camp, and order Martinez and his search parties to loot these camps, thereby replenishing Woodbury's supplies while simultaneously eliminating potential rivals for supplies, and even potential dangers to the town's relative peacefulness. But a single child had not been the expected outcome of this order, thus why Philip was now on edge to hear Merle's reply.

"Because, I know this kid and he's no orphan." Merle replied, smirk not showing any sign of fading. "He's from that group I was part of in Atlanta. His pappy is an ex-deputy for the King County sheriff's department. If his kid is here, than his group is somewhere nearby."

"Another group of survivors?" the Governor pondered, now somewhat intrigued by the revelation. "Led by an ex-cop, no less."

"They're not your typical group of renegades either." the redneck continued with his report. "They're always armed and dangerous. Bet they found themselves a nice little place to hole up in somewhere close to here, too. They're ripe for the pickin'."

"Well," Philip grunted, rising to his full height. "We can't have _that_ now, can we? I'll go down and see this child. See what I can find out. Best get Martinez ready when he gets back. You two may be going out there again. Real soon."

The Governor began to trot across the room, heading for his front door. He had a secret chamber, located in the building next to his home, that only he and his henchmen knew about. It was the location where he got every _ounce_ of information he wanted from his victims... before feeding them to the Biters as a form of disposal. This would certainly be a first, as he had never dealt with a child before, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He could not allow a rival group to hole up in his territory, salvaging supplies _he_ needed for _his_ town. No. He had to nip this in the bud before things got out of hand. Not to mention, if Merle's descriptions of their group was right, they might have just the supplies he needed to get Woodbury back on its feet. But, before he could leave to accomplish this task, the redneck spoke again.

"If, by chance, he knows where they are and my brother is there," Merle spoke up. "Can I go to them? Maybe I can get them to surrender themselves. Bring them all here, or at least get them out in the open."

So that's what he wanted.

For all the rotten filth that was Merle Dixon, he did have a redeeming trait: his brother Daryl.

Merle had hunted him since the two had become separated after an altercation with his previous group in Atlanta. Now the redneck had found his first break in the search, and he wanted to make sure he was apart of the mission to find the Atlanta group. Inwardly, the Governor grinned malevolently to himself. He could use _this_ to his advantage. Now the capture of a child, which had initially seemed strange, was turning out to be the perfect blessing in disguise.

"If he knows where they are and your brother is there." Philip replied, savoring the fleeting look of hope on Merle's face. "You can take _me_ to them."

And then he shut the door, and was gone.


	3. Chapter 2: Encounter

**Chapter 2**

**"Encounter"**

* * *

It was dark when Ten's group returned to Woodbury from their run.

Their return trip wasn't meant to have taken as long as it had, but the trip had taken a turn for the worst as the group had gotten further from the crash site. Ten had been the one to spot it, and, in many ways, he had wished he hadn't. A herd was moving through. That hadn't been expected at all. Even at the crash site, he had been sure that they were too far from the Red Zone for biters to amass such a large group, and yet, there it was. Luckily, they had been at a great distance when Ten had spotted them emerging from the woods by the dozens. It was impossible to tell how many were actually in the group. Martinez had immediately burst into action, throwing the Jeep into drive and slamming on the accelerator. Woodbury was still a good several miles away, so the town wasn't in immediate danger, but Martinez was frantic to inform the Governor. For once, Ten agreed with him. If the herd turned even slightly south, off of its present course, it would almost certainly come to Woodbury. The risk was just too high.

"You three unload the supplies and take them to the warehouses." Martinez was barking frantically, tossing off his seat belt and leaping from the Jeep. "I've got to get to the Governor and inform him of what we found."

Ten scowled at the man's orders. Sure, he agreed that the Governor needed to be informed, but he despised that Martinez was ordering them around like henchmen. Luckily, the absence of light in the sky hid this expression from Martinez, and the older man tore off through the streets without another word.

"That was a waste of gas." Crowley finally expressed once Martinez was out of earshot. "Barely any supplies at all."

"True." Ten agreed, nodding his head. "But we wouldn't have learned about the Biters if we hadn't. If anything, finding that out made the trip worth it."

Crowley scowled, but agreed with that logic. The tree men, including Brian, who had remained quiet for most of the trip, unloaded the medical equipment Martinez had found, along with the few bits of ammo Ten himself had recovered, and began their walk towards Woodbury's storage area. The Woodbury storage complex consisted of a group of storage buildings just behind the apartment complexes, and not too far from the stadium, where the town frequently held get-togethers for all the residents, and was on the edge of the settlement closest to the treeline. Using the moonlight as their guide, the small group moved into the first storage shed, and sat down the boxes of supplies where they were supposed to go. This was Ten's first time getting to see Woodbury's material supplies, save for the food rations, in person.

It was getting low. Very low.

Suddenly Ten realized why the Governor had ordered such a seemingly pointless trip. He was desperate to gather supplies for the town of survivors. The winter had been hard on them all, but he hadn't understood just how much supplies they had gone through just to keep Woodbury on its feet. The revelation was staggering.

"If it keeps up like this," Crowley was saying. "We won't make it through the spring. And if that herd of biters moves through, we'll run out of ammo before we make a dent."

This time, Ten didn't argue with Crowley. While he was somewhat exaggerating about the ammo levels that Woodbury had—he was certainly confident that they had more than enough ammo to at least grant themselves a proper retreat if necessary—he too wasn't so certain that the town would be able to survive the coming seasons unless they found another reasonable location to loot, or found some way to become self-sufficient. And he didn't see either of those happening any time soon.

"We'd all better get back home." Ten finally said, breaking the silence. "Its past curfew and I, for one, don't want the Governor breathing down my neck about violating it."

Ten was the last one out of the shed, shutting the door and latching it locked behind him. He decided to take a shortcut back to his apartment, cutting through an alleyway nearby the storage units. An alleyway that led him right passed the Governor's own apartment... and the building next to it. Specifically, a small opening at the bottom of said building. It must've been built into the building's cellar for some means of ventilation, but, whatever the reasoning, it was now carrying the words of someone with a very low tone of voice right to Ten's ears. The teenager stopped in mid-stride. Silence filled the gap, but soon, the voice began to speak again. This time more clearly.

"You have no reason to fear me, you know?" it was saying. "Just tell me where your group is. I'll bring them here. You'll all be safe here."

It was the voice of the Governor.

Suddenly, a very, _very_, bad feeling hit Ten's stomach, forcing the boy to spin around on his heels and approach the vent in the building in order to get a better listen. Someone had replied to the Governor, but the voice was far too soft for Ten to make out the words.

"I can't allow that." the Governor replied back to the smaller voice. "Your people may be dangerous to us. But, I'll tell you what. You tell me where they are and I'll drive you to them. Easy as that."

The curiosity was eating Ten alive. Just who was the town leader talking to? Who were these "people" he spoke of? And why was he seemingly interrogating someone in a _basement_ of all places? Silence again filled the void as the questioned continued to mount in the young teen's head. Finally, unable to bare the curiosity any further, he knelt down, as quietly as he possibly could, placing his hands firmly against the concrete alley floor, and lowering his head just far enough to peek in through the vent. What he saw made his blood go cold at first.

And then

...it began to **boil**.

* * *

Carl Grimes had been separated from his group when Merle had captured him, not far from the gates of the small town.

He had received rare permission to accompany his father, Daryl, and Maggie on a run to search for more supplies. The prison had begun to run out and Judith, his baby sister, needed baby formula. Being the every protective older brother that Carl was, he had insisted on helping find the formula himself. His father could hardly say no to that. With Glenn and Hershel staying behind to watch over things, the prison was in more than capable hands, and so, his father had indeed accepted. They had hardly expected to be overtaken by a huge wave of Walkers passing through the area. In the ensuing fight, Carl had been separated from his father, and forced to flee when his pistol had conveniently run out of ammunition.

Everything had gone south from there.

Now, the young teenager found himself hogtied in the cellar of some obscure building, being questioned by the draconian figure looming over him. It was taking everything in the younger boy not to let his fear take hold of him. Thoughts of what his father would do in such a situation swirled around in his head, leaving him completely confused and afraid. Even still, the teen demonstrated his resilience from months spent on the road, displaying a cold, expressionless face to his capture.

"You have no reason to fear me, you know?" the man was saying. "Just tell me where your group is. I'll bring them here. You'll all be safe here."

His group? So Merle had told this man about their group. That didn't bode well.

"I told you." Carl replied, his throat and mouth dry with fear. "I don't know where they're at. We got separated."

That was a half truth. He _had _been separated from some of them and there was no way he was telling this man about the prison. Any man who would hogtie a child in a basement and interrogate them like some prisoner of war was not to be trusted with that information.

"Just let me go." Carl tried in vain.

"I can't allow that." the man replied, his voice suddenly going cold, sending shivers up the teen's spine. "Your people may be dangerous to us. But, I'll tell you what. You tell me where they are and I'll drive you to them. Easy as that."

Something wasn't right about this. The man was just short of _begging_ him to know where his group was. Carl couldn't figure out why the man wanted to know so badly, but he wasn't about to give him that information. His dad, Rick, wouldn't. So, neither would he. He began to open his mouth to declare just those intentions when a sudden rasp on the steel door behind his capture jolted him. The interrogator turned, clearly annoyed by this interruption.

"Who is it?" he barked.

"Boss, its me." came a muffled voice from behind the door. "We've gotta talk. Its urgent!"

The man audibly signed, flashing Carl a frustrated, almost menacing glance, before turning back to the door, "I'll be right there, Martinez. Wait for me back at my apartment."

There was the sound of scuffling footsteps and then silence. The man turned to face Carl, the same menacing scowl he had glanced at him before with still etched into his face, like some sort of Satanic stone carving. For a moment, Carl feared that he would resort to more brutal tactics to get the information he desired in a timely manner, but instead, he turned back around and began to strode towards the door.

"I'll send someone down here to feed you shortly." the man replied without facing him. "Take tonight to consider my offer. We'll try this again in the morning."

There's the sound of metal scraping the floor as the door swings open, and then a loud _CRASH_ that reverberates through the room as it slams shut behind the man. And then he is gone and Carl is alone. For the first time since arriving in the town, the youth lets his fear and exhaustion overtake him, spilling over in the form of tears from his piercing sapphire stone eyes. For the first time since his mother's death, Carl Grimes allows himself to sob nice and hard, tears soaking the ground rapidly. Even in his tied up position, he is able to bend over, resting his head against the cold concrete floor, where he wails alone in silence.

* * *

Ten had seen it all. Heard it all. And he was _furious_.

It had been a very long time—since before the Turn at the very least—that he had been this angry. The Governor was holding a _kid_? And interrogating him? Tied up him up like an animal and interrogating him, nonetheless.

"_Even in this world, where the dead feed on the living, a kid shouldn't be used like that._" he thought furiously to himself.

For the first time since he arrived in Woodbury, Ten had half a mind to ignore his fear of the Governor, storm up to his apartment, and demand he set the kid free. But seeing that had sparked a revelation in the teenager. If the Governor was capable and willing enough to do _that_ to a kid, who looked to be only a year or two younger than Ten himself, than he was willing to do far worse. Barging into his apartment and barking angry demands just might be the thing to set him off. And so, with that chilling thought in the back of his head, he fought hard to push his anger down. But that brought another important question to his mind.

Should he help this kid? And even if he could: how?

Ten had no more than formed this thought, rounding the corner out of the alley to cross the street in the direction of his apartment, when he crashed right into the Governor. The sudden collision startled the teen, and when he realized who it was he had collided with, his cursed mentally to himself. He had forgotten the Governor had lived next door, in all of his clouded emotions, and would, thus, be heading his direction.

"Ah, Ten." the Governor spoke up. "Are you alright? I didn't see you there."

"Yes, sir." Ten replied, the words of anger he had previous planned slipping from his tongue. Replaced entirely by fear. "I just got done unloading the supplies we found on the run. Was heading back home for the night."

"Ah yes," the older man replied, nodding. "I was just on my way to meet Martinez and ask him how that run went. But, listen Ten, before you go,"

"_Here it comes..._" Ten thought, gulping rather loudly.

"I need you to do a favor for me." the Governor finished.

"What sort of favor?" Ten questioned, now puzzled.

"Earlier today, Merle found an orphan wandering around outside the walls. We tried to take him in, but he got violent, and so we're holding him next door until he can calm down." the Governor lied. "I want you to see if you can befriend him. Make him ease up a bit. He may or may not have a group out there and you know me, any chance I have to rescue the innocent, I'll take. Can you see if you can try to find out where they are, for me?"

_Liar!_

Ten was taken aback by the voice that came from the depths of his consciousness. Of course, Ten already knew the Governor was lying. He had heard everything the Governor had asked the captive boy and knew there was more too it that what he was telling him. Still, now he had his chance to get in close to the prisoner and find out what was going on. Then he could make his decision. To help him, or not. The Governor must've sensed the confusion in Ten, because he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and offered him a soft smile. Truly the definition of a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Sure thing, sir." he finally replied, gulping down another lump of cold air. "I'll see what I can do for him."

"I knew I could count on you, Ten." the Governor smirked wider now, patting him on the back as usual. "Let me know if you find anything useful."

The Governor stayed around only a moment longer, telling Ten where to find the imprisoned boy, before leaving for his own apartment to rendezvous with Martinez. Once he was sure the man was out of sight, the teenager released the breath he had been holding. For the first time in the eight months since he had arrived in Woodbury, Ten no longer felt safe within its walls. His suspicions about the Governor had been right all along. There was something terribly wrong going on in Woodbury, and he wasn't sure he wanted any part of it. What he _was_ sure of, however, is that there was a frightened teenager in the cellar of the nearby building and he now had a chance to do something about that. Then he remembered the Governor had promised the teen some food and began the run to his apartment to fetch some fruits.

"_Looks like tonight will be another long night._" he thought, a groan escaping his lips as he began to climb the ladder for home.

* * *

Philip Blake strode into his apartment rather pleased with himself.

Silus Tennison was indeed turning out to be a useful addition to Woodbury. He had seen the boy's kindness to the other residence over the course of the past eight months, and how most of them had taken to the boy in return. If everything went similarly with the captive, he'd know right were Merle's former group was. After that, it was just a matter of taking their supplies and killing them to eliminate the competition.

Shedding his coat on the coffee table, he crossed the room to where Martinez was waiting, eager to hear what the man had found so urgent earlier.

"What is it?" he asked, the gruffness in his voice returning.

"Biters," Martinez replied simply. "Lots of them."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Phillip snapped, face contorting with confusion.

"I mean there is a herd of biters about ten miles north of here. Huge. Too many to get a good count on, at least." Martinez reiterated. There was clear urgency in the man's look and actions.

"That's impossible." the Governor scoffed. "We're too far from the Red Zone. There aren't enough of them to pile up that quickly. Not without us noticing."

"I'm telling you, boss." Martinez was now wide-eyed, staring the Governor dead on. "There _is_ a herd on the move. Maybe the Red Zone has begun to shift again. If they turn any further south, Woodbury will be hit dead on."

Phillip's eyes narrowed as the severity of the situation finally struck him. Perhaps that is why Ten had acted so nervous on the streets just moments before.

"If that's the case," Phillip began. "Then we have to act. Fast."

"What do we do?" Martinez replied, eyeing his leader for any semblance of hope.

"We can't take too long." the Governor replied. "Biters move slow, but unlike us, they don't need to sleep. I need you to start taking groups out in increments. See if you can find anyway to deter the herd with as little ammo as possible. We're already running low as it is and if they come through, we'll need it. See if you can get them to turn in the opposite direction somehow."

"And if that doesn't work?" Martinez pressed.

"I just need time." Phillip replied, now eyeing Martinez more seriously. "I may have stumbled upon a lead that could prove most useful to us. Just buy me some time and I'll take care of the rest."

Martinez thought it over for a moment before nodding, "Alright. I'll take Ten, Crowley, and Brian in the morning and we'll do something about it."

"No," the Governor suddenly snapped. "Not Ten. I need him here. Take Merle with you."

Now it was Martinez's turn to look puzzled, "You sure, boss?"

The Governor couldn't help himself. A cruel smile twisted its way across his broad face, "Absolutely."

* * *

Ten took in a large gulp of air as he approached the large steel door to the cellar.

He had approached the situation from every angle in the few minutes it had taken him to gather the food items he needed, but no matter how he approached it, he couldn't come up with the words to say.

"_What **do** you say to someone, much less someone your own age, whose being held against their will_?" he wondered, for what must've been the fifth time, to himself.

Sighing to himself, Ten mustered his resolve and shoved the rather heavy metal door open. Immediately, the other teen raised his head to see who had arrived. There were the telltale signs of crying around the younger teen's eyes, the skin of which had turned a light shade of pink. Moisture from his tears still clung to his eyelids. Ten had to admire him, however. Though it was obvious he had been crying, his face had gone completely blank, rather than twisted in fear, as would be expected of most children. For what seemed like an eternity, the two teen simply stared the other down, eyes locking, as both tried to size the other up. Ten certainly didn't feel threatened by the younger teen. Animosity, fear and weariness, perhaps, but not threatened.

"Don't worry." Ten tried to reassure him. "I'm not going to harm you."

The boy didn't reply, instead looking down at the ground. That simple action was enough to betray how he was feeling.

Ten sensed a great deal of anxiety in that single expression, but bold determination not to give into it. The older teen managed to flash a concerned grimace before setting to work. He walked over to a wooden table that was located on the far side of the room and sat the bowel of fruits down before turning his attention to the other boy, who had not adverted his gaze from the cold, concrete ground.

"I brought you something to eat." he announced. "I hope you don't mind apples, bananas, or grapes. They were all I had back at my apartment."

He turned around to retrieve one of each of the fruits he had brought with him, only to become immediately aware that he was being watched. Glancing back, he noticed the boy had looked up from the floor and was now glaring at him with a rather puzzled expression. Ten crossed the room and knelt on the ground in front of the boy, still holding the fruits in his hand when he immediately noticed an issue with his plan. The boy was still tied around his arms and legs. He wouldn't be able to eat by himself. With his free hand, he reached back and pulled the sword he still had on him from the run, out of its ornate scabbard, causing the boy's eyes to widen with fear and attempt to shrink backwards, away from him.

"Relax." Ten chuckled. "I already told you I wasn't going to hurt you. But you can't expect to eat with your hands all tied up like that."

The younger teen stopped attempting to scoot backwards, the fear on his face replaced by an expression of mixed curiosity and bewilderment. Using the sharp end of his sword, Ten cut the rope bindings on just the boy's arms, freeing him to move about freely. The older teen held his breath the moment the younger was free. He could attack now, if he wanted. Even with his legs still tied. He could attack him and steel his sword, freeing himself in the process. But he doesn't. Instead, they boy continues to watch him in silence.

Ten took this as a cue to continue what he was doing, and so picked up the fruit and handed them to the boy.

"Pick whichever one you like, or all of them if you prefer." Ten said. "There is more over in that bowl I can get you if you're still hungry."

The boy continued to stare at him for a few more fleeting moments, before reluctantly reaching out, as if unsure of himself, and snatching the apple from Ten's hand. The older teen watched, with somewhat of a soft smile on his face, as the younger tore into the crimson fruit. Clearly he was hungry after all. Now was his chance to break the ice.

"I overheard what that man was asking you about earlier." these words caused the younger boy to freeze, and look up from his meal with skepticism. "We call him the Governor. No one knows his real name, or at least, I don't. He leads this town."

The boy sat the apple, now barely a core, on the floor and kept his gaze fixated on Ten, as if committing the information he was giving him to memory.

"If you're worried about me asking about your group, I'm not." there, he had finally gotten it out. And it was the truth. The more he sat here, the more Ten wanted to help the boy. "Perhaps you could tell me your name? If it helps, I'll tell you mine. Its Silus. Silus Tennison, but most people just call me Ten for short."

The boy's eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to decide whether Ten was for real or not. And, after hearing what the Governor was trying to do, Ten couldn't blame him.

"Carl." the boy finally replied. His voice was soft, as would be expected of a boy his age, but with hints of a deeper undertone which would develop with time.

"Nice to meet you, Carl." Ten replied with a smile. "Like I said, I overheard what the Governor was saying... And, I don't agree with him keeping you here."

Suddenly, Carl's eyes flashed open with realization. Ten knew just from the look the younger teen was giving him, that he saw his opportunity to escape. Problem was, Ten wasn't ready to just bust him out of this cellar. There was still the Governor to worry about, and he was just next door. Not to mention that Ten knew little other than the boy's name. If he was to make a proper decision, he'd have to know more.

"Listen," Ten continued, selecting his words carefully. He only had one shot at this. "I know its hard for you to trust me. After what you've been through today, I can hardly blame you, but you have to try. Do you understand?"

With some trepidation, Carl nodded, his eyes now like hot daggers, digging into Ten's own.

"That man, the Governor..." Ten gulped. "I've always felt there was something he was hiding from me. Hiding from us, this town. Now I know. If he's willing to lock up kids in this place and interrogate them, he's capable of far worse. I... I don't want to stick around and find out what that is, so I'll make you a bargain. I'll answer your questions. About this place. About the Governor, whatever you want to know, but then you've got to answer mine. That's the only way this works."

"I don't know if I can do that." Carl replied truthfully. "What if you're lying?"

"Well, there's not much I can do to prove it, now is there?" Ten shot back, equally truthful. "You're going to have to take a gamble. Trust me, and I might be able to get you out of here and back to your group. Or take your chances with the Governor, and I don't want that for you."

Carl seemed reluctant. Like he wanted to believe Ten, but couldn't bring himself to agree.

"I can't stay here much longer." Ten announced, glancing back at the door. "He'll get suspicious. I'll try to get him to let me come back here tomorrow and speak to you again. Think about what I've said and give me an answer when I come back. Ok?"

Carl's eyes darted to the floor and then side to side. He was clearly thinking it over, which was a good sign to the older teen. Maybe he could do this after all.

"Alright. Tomorrow then." Carl finally responded, nodding.

"Good." Ten sighed with relief.

The older teen raised himself up to his full height and quickly strode across the room, grabbing the bowel of fruits and sitting them down next to Carl's feet. He then retrieved his sword and slid it back into the scabbard on his back. As he opened the door to leave, he glanced back at Carl, who was still watching him carefully.

"Eat those. You're starving." Ten said. "I'll be back for you tomorrow, I promise. And.. Carl? I'm sorry... for all of this."

And then he closed the door.

* * *

Outside, the older teen had gotten no more than a few feet from the building where Carl was being held before the Governor stepped out of the shadows. He had been leaned up against the side of his apartment building, apparently waiting for Ten.

"How did it go?" the older man asked, curious.

"I think maybe a day or two more and I can get you the information you need." Ten lied. "_Please buy it..._"

"Excellent. Excellent work, Ten." the Governor applauded, giving him is signature "concerned" smile. "You can try again in the morning. I've got Martinez working on our biter situation. Maybe everything will finally start working out."

"Maybe, sir." Ten replied. "Maybe..."

* * *

Whew! That was a mouthful to write.

Please, review and comment! I'll work on Chapter 3 this week. More interaction between Ten and Carl, and we'll get a view of what's going on at the prison, since that group is about to become VERY relevant. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Until next time, cheers!


	4. Chapter 3: Torn

**Chapter 3**

**"Torn"**

* * *

Rick Grimes is a father in distress.

Carl has been missing now for most of the afternoon, and night had finally fallen without his boy returning. Maggie had tried to reason with him before the sun had fully set. Tried to get him to return to the prison and search for Carl again in the morning, when it was safer. But Rick Grimes wasn't the type of man to abandon the search for his son. Not after losing Lori. He wasn't about to lose Carl too. This is how he had come to find himself, accompanied by Daryl and Maggie, holed up in an abandoned home, not far from where they had become separated from his son.

The noise of the front door creeping open shook Rick from his daze, drawing his attention to the slender young woman who was now closing it quietly behind her. It was Maggie.

"No sign of him." she sighed, shaking her head with disappointment.

The rage swelling within Rick's chest is almost unbearable. Even as he sits, back against the wall, contemplating the possibilities of his son's fate, he can feel the anger creeping through his veins like molten lava, threatening to burn him completely out. His anger is visible, even in the darkness, to Maggie and even Daryl, who had been watching from the entrance to the kitchen.

The redneck's eyes narrowed. It was Sophia all over again, only he prayed the results wouldn't be the same. He glanced over at Maggie, who shot him a tired and clearly concerned expression. Rick had gone completely silent. All three adults were fully aware that searching in the dead of night, in a walker infested area, no less, would be suicide. His eyes darted from Maggie to Rick, who now wore an expression of emotional and physical fatigue.

"Rick," it was Maggie who spoke up first. "We need to rest. We can look for Carl in the morning. I know it won't be easy, but..."

She couldn't even complete her sentence. To be truthful, she wasn't even sure how. How was she to go about telling a father that the chances of finding his son under these conditions were nigh impossible. It wasn't looking good for Carl Grimes.

"Daryl?" Rick's voice was soft with tiredness, yet firm with resolve to find his son. "Would you... Would you be able to track him? Like you did with Sophia?"

There the subject was again. Sophia.

Even all these months after the farm, the group hadn't forgotten the reeling loss that Sophia had been.

"Of course." Daryl offered, his voice calm and sure. There were few men Rick could trust as much as he did Daryl, so his assurance was a semi-form of relief, albeit fleeting. "But it'll work better in the day, when we can see the walkers more clearly. Walkin' out there right now? We might as well serve ourselves up on a platter."

Rick knew he was right. That both Daryl and Maggie were right. Though, he didn't want them to be. Searching anymore tonight would be impossible unless they had a death wish. With a heavy sigh and a droop of his head, Rick silently conceded to their judgement. A man of unrivaled courage and fortitude, Rick had let the group see him break on few occasions, one being Lori's death. But now, faced with the prospect of losing his first-born child, the leader with a seemingly stone heart, let out sobs of grief. Sobs he had been holding back since Carl's initial disappearance. Maggie and Daryl, unable to do anything to ease their friend's pain, simply hung their heads—forced to listen to the sound of his sobs.

* * *

The morning sun greeted Ten like an old adversary.

The teenager had barely slept through the night. His thoughts were plagued by the events of yesterday, which had shattered his faith in Woodbury. Or, at least, that is what he thought. In the past, before the Turn, treating a child as the Governor had would be grounds for criminal accusations. Sure, the man hadn't hurt Carl physically. Yet. But tying him up in a basement and trying to force information from him was pushing it. And if Merle was involved, Ten was sure that it wouldn't be long before the physical side of things began to rear its head. No, it hadn't been Woodbury, necessarily, that the teen had lost faith in. It was humanity. Eight months after the Turn and, already, the morals and standards humanity had been following throughout all of civilized society were beginning to fade away.

And now, as he dressed himself for the day, Ten prepared to face it all over again.

The Governor had wanted him to "try again" with Carl first thing in the morning. Of course, what the teenager was more concerned with is what Carl had decided overnight. If Carl truly did accept his truce, and the boy turned out to be innocent of the Governor's accusations, then Ten would have his answer. He would have to betray the man who had saved him from death to do the right thing. And he wasn't sure he could do that. Fear, like any disease, had the ability to convince one that they were incapable of preforming certain tasks. For Ten, it was betraying a man that he knew was dangerous, but, yet, felt a semblance of attachment to, since he _had_ saved him.

"_And if he is guilty of what the Governor said?_"

He wasn't. Ten was sure of it. He wasn't sure _how _he was sure of it, but he was.

There was something else going on here, something hidden by the shadows of deceit, and the teenager wanted answers.

And so, it was with this mindset that he set off from his apartment, bypassing the short flight of steps and simply leaping down to the concrete. It was early, with the morning sun still low on the horizon, but Woodbury was already bustling with activity. In the distance, Ten could see Martinez and Merle preparing to leave the gates, likely to set about trying to take care of the biter herd they had encountered the day prior. Despite his anxiety, Ten silently thanked God that he wasn't having to go on that particular run.

There was no sign of the Governor when Ten made his way across the street, towards the building that held Carl in its underbelly. He hadn't bothered to bring his weapon with him this time around. He doubted he would need it. Carl's legs were still tied up, and, even so, he didn't seem all that dangerous. Within minutes, he was inside the building, descending the thick wooden stairs that lead to the cellar. Noise was drifting up from the cellar. And that noise made Ten freeze in his tracks.

Sobbing.

_Heavy_ sobbing.

Instinct took over, and the older teen bolted down the remaining steps, failing to even register the weight of the metal door as he grasped it and threw it open. Sure enough, the sight before him sent rage searing through his veins like hot fire. Carl was on his knees towards the back of the room, leaning up against a corner on the farthest end. It took only one glance for Ten to see why the youth was crying.

His right eye, which had only been stained by tears when Ten had seen him the night before, was now black as night. And swollen. Very swollen. To make matters all the more perplexing, the boy's arms had been tied behind him once again. He must've crawled to the back of the room, seeking some sort of sanctuary from whoever had done this to him. Being the bleeding heart that he was, Ten's defenses melted and he immediately rushed over to the boy, kneeling beside him. Carl flinched at the sight of the older teen, not recognizing him at first. That doubt would soon be put aside.

"Oh my God, Carl!" Ten exclaimed loudly. "What happened to you?!"

The boy's sobs ceased, replaced by a pained glare which pierced the older boy's soul. Carl was angry. And justifiably so, from the looks of it.

"What?" the younger teen snarled through a tearful hiccup. "Did you come here to finish what they started?"

Now Ten was officially confounded.

"Finish what _who_started?" Ten demanded. "Who did this to you?"

"Merle." Carl snapped. "And some short, muscular guy."

Martinez.

"_Son of a bitch._" Ten cursed to himself.

"They came in here," Carl went on. "Claiming they were supposed to see if I was 'behaving'. I guess your 'Governor' sent them. I tried to get them to let me go, but they only laughed. They had left the door open, so I tried to make a break for it. Used my hands to crawl as fast as I could.. but."

"_Oh..._" the older teen thought, finally connecting all the dots.

They had beaten him for trying to escape, and then tied him up again. The flame that was Ten's anger ignited, causing his pulse to accelerate, and his blood to surge with heat. He could feel the heat rising up from his stomach, crawling through his skin. It was Carl who noticed the older boy's face turning red. Burnt red, like the color of a rose in full bloom. Ten reacted instinctively, placing his trembling hand on the younger boy's shoulder and gently rubbed him.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." he offered sincerely. "But, to answer your question, I'm not here to hurt you."

"I know..." Carl murmured. Seeing the way the older teen had reacted had confirmed that already for him.

Whatever doubt had been in Ten's mind that morning, about helping Carl escape, was gone. But now the questions about _how_ he was going to make that happen were tenfold. It would be easier with Merle and Martinez out on a run, but there was still the Governor to worry about, and after this, Ten hardly felt that he could bargain for the kid's life. No, there had to be another way.

"Carl," Ten began, voice trembling with uncertainty. "I'm going to help you get out of here. Get back to your group. I don't know how, but, I will. Just give me time to think of a plan."

For a moment, there was silence between the two boys. Carl seemed to become more and more pained by his injuries as the moments slipped by. Ten felt his heart ache for the younger boy. He couldn't imagine being in the reversed position.

"Its only a matter of time before my dad and the others start looking for me." Carl suddenly said, eyes still on the floor. "Daryl is a good tracker. I wouldn't be surprised if they showed up sometime today."

That gave the older teen an idea.

"Do you know where they are?" he questioned, causing Carl to shoot him a wary stare.

"Why?" the younger boy shot back.

"Listen, if I could convince the Governor to let me go on a run, I may be able to find them. Lead them here. They can wait for you outside the gates, someplace hidden, so that when I bust you out of here, they can get you to safety before the Governor or his henchman notice you're missing." Ten explained.

"How will you convince him to let you leave?" Carl asked skeptically.

"I'm not sure... yet. But I have to try. I can't let him continue to do this to you." Ten replied firmly. "You have to trust me on this one, Carl. Its the only way."

Carl gave Ten a hard look. It was clear that he _wanted_ to trust his older counterpart, but it was hard to trust someone he had only known for a day. Much less while he was in the situation he currently found himself in. Nevertheless, the younger teen was intelligent enough to realize that this may be his only chance to escape before the Governor decides to do something more drastic. His deep, fiery sapphire eyes darted from the floor to Ten, back to the floor, and back to Ten. Then he sighed.

"My dad's name is Rick Grimes. He's with a girl named Maggie and another man named Daryl. Merle's brother." Carl finally conceded.

Merle had a brother? Ten was somewhat taken aback that he hadn't learned this yet.

"We got separated by a large herd of walkers in a town not far from here. I think I overheard Daryl calling it Greenville." he finished.

Greenville. It was the closest town in Meriwether County to Woodbury and was located not far from where Ten and Martinez had gone to investigate the crash of the military helicopter the day before. If Carl was right, and they had been hit by a herd of biters, then the herd that they had seen the very same day was much larger than either of them had originally thought. It would be dangerous getting to Greenville, but Ten knew he had to try.

"Alright." Ten nodded, rubbing Carl's shoulder again and squeezing gently to get the boy to look up at him. "Hang tight. I'll do my best to bring them here and get you out as safely as possible."

Ten rose and started to head for the door. He still was unsure of how he was going to convince the Governor to let him leave, but he was prepared to sneak out of Woodbury if he was absolutely forced to. Reaching the door, he was stopped when Carl started speaking again.

"Ten, was it?" Carl asked, adjusting his sitting position in the corner.

Ten glanced back and nodded.

"Thank you." Carl said, offering him a weak smile.

Ten returned the smile and shut the door behind him as he exited the cellar.

"_Don't thank me yet._" he thought quietly to himself. And then, he ascended the stairs.

* * *

"You want to _what_?" the Governor sounded genuinely perplexed.

Ten was standing in the Governor's apartment, just beside the window, after having told the Governor his plan to go out on a run for additional food and medical equipment.

"I was looking over Martinez's map from yesterday," Ten began, repeating his lie for the second time. "That helicopter crash site is right outside of Greenville. I was thinking that maybe some of the schools there may have not been looted. Before all of this went down, Greenville had several schools in their school district. My parents were considering moving there to get away from the city, so I've been once or twice. I know my way around. The schools will have plenty of canned foods in the cafeterias and their nurse's offices may have medical supplies that can help Dr. Stevens. Even with the trunk we brought back yesterday, it isn't enough."

The Governor looked Ten over, then turned, hands on his hips, and glanced at the ground, clearly thinking about it. It didn't take him long, however, because his head quickly swiveled back towards the teen.

"I need you here. You're supposed to be helping me with our... kid situation." the Governor replied, stumbling over the last few words.

For an instant, Ten's blood boiled again. He knew he was being used and he _hated__ it._

_"_Besides," the Governor continued. "What if the place was overrun? How do you expect to get in and out without being killed?"

Ten gulped, "There's just one of me and I fight with a quieter weapon. I won't attract as many biters as an entire group might. And, like I said, I know my way around the place. I'd be your best bet. Besides..."

Now he would have to take a gamble.

"The kid isn't talking. Your guys, Merle and Martinez, left him a big ol' shiner on his right eye this morning. He's terrified. If I get some of those first aid kits from the school, I can treat him and possibly gain his trust." he continued. "And you won't have to waste Woodbury's supply on him."

The Governor perked up at this. A grin spreading across his face. It sent chills down Ten's spine. The more and more he stood in this man's presence, the more urgently he wanted to get _out_ of it. He could only pray, at this point, that his lie was convincing enough. He also hoped Carl's group would still be in Greenville when he arrived, otherwise it would be all for nothing. Finally, the Governor let out a slight chuckle.

"I like the way you think, Ten." the leader said in the most benevolent voice he could muster. "Alright, I'll lend you a car. If things look like they're getting harry, get out of there."

"I will, sir." Ten nodded his, almost too hard. He was relieved that his plan was going smoothly... For the moment.

The teenager wasted no time fleeing from the Governor's apartment. It was mere seconds between him opening the door to the man's residence and bolting down the street towards his own apartment. He needed to retrieve his weapon before heading out.

He needed to be quick. It was already almost noon.

* * *

Rick, Daryl, and Maggie cautiously made their way through the streets of Greenville—renewing their search for Carl.

Already they had been searching for hours, and now the relentless Georgia sun was beating down on them, soaking their pale complexion with sweat. Rick's state had deteriorated from just the night before. Already he was in a frenzy, using his military-style knife to dispatching another walker. The herd that had moved through, and initially separated the group, the day before had begun to thin as it moved out of the town. Still, there were no signs of Carl. Daryl, however, was making progress in tracking him, which is all the hope the group needed to continue searching.

"Anything, Daryl?" a bloodied Rick asked, returning from his latest kill.

Daryl shook his head, "Those were definitely his tracks back there." the redneck said in his signature southern accent. "Had the same make as the shoes he was wearin'. Means he came through this way."

Rick huffed. He knew Daryl was doing his best, but to a frantic father, it simply wasn't enough.

"Alright," Rick conceded, placing his hands on his hips. "Let's keep looking then.

It was nearly noon when the group reached the edge of the town. In the distance, they could see the main herd of walkers, which had left Greenville the night before, off in the pastures. Like before, they split up, searching abandoned houses, stores, cars, even shrubs and garages for the missing teen. They had been searching no more than half an hour when Daryl's loud, piercing whistle broke out, reverberating off the buildings of the empty town. Within moments, Rick and Maggie had gathered to where he was.

It was a forested area that lay right on the edge of Greenville. There didn't seem to be any signs of people, or walkers for that matter, save for what Daryl was looking at. There, in a still fresh patch of mud, were a series of footprints. The redneck was knelt over them, looking as though he was trying to get a sense of direction from them. Rick looked at him pleadingly.

"These are the same type of prints we saw earlier." Daryl declared. "They go off into those woods."

"What are you trying to say?" Maggie cut in. "That Carl left town?"

"Why would he do that?" Rick vocalized, more questioning himself than the others.

"He may have not meant to." Daryl continued. "If the walkers pushed him back to these woods, he could've gotten lost. It'd be easy to get turned around pretty deep in there."

"Are you sure they're Carl's?" Rick asked, suddenly doubting the prints.

Daryl merely nodded. He had no need to explain himself.

"Then we have to look." Rick said.

Daryl motioned ahead of him, pointing the way for Rick to lead, and so the former police officer ducked under a low-hanging branch and began the trek into the forest to search for his missing son.

* * *

Ten hadn't quite expected to feel this way when he left Woodbury.

The Governor had let him borrow one of the pickups, of which model and make, he was unsure of, to go about his "mission" to Greenville. As the teen soared down the road, windows down, hair blowing wildly with the cooling wind, for the first time since the world had gone to shit, Ten felt... Free. The road was his ticket to this freedom. There was no Governor to make him feel anxious. No Martinez or Merle to breathe hot air down his neck. It felt _good_. But, as with all good things, it had to come to a screeching halt.

Literally.

Lost in his thoughts, Ten never saw the steady stream of biter making their way across the highway. The sight of one immediately snapped him from his daze and instinctively swerve to miss it. If it had only been the one biter, he would've been home free, but now he saw a far bigger problem beginning to manifest itself.

The herd.

It had been moving through a pasture in the distance and must've been drawn to the road by the sound of Ten's roaring engines. Hundreds upon hundreds of biters were now stampeding towards the highway. Snapping into action, the teen threw the pickup back into drive and slammed on the accelerator. The result was instant. The old clunker lurched forward, wheels squealing loudly against the pavement, and then burst from its idle position. Ten watched the needle on his dashboard, indicating his speed, pass forty, fifty, sixty, and seventy, but the herd was wide—leaving hardly a speck of grass to be seen on the pasture they were swarming from. Even as he pushed the truck to its absolute limits, the engine roaring as it attempted to make up with the teen's demand for acceleration, the biters on the far side of the field were beginning to trundle onto the road.

_THWUMP!_

The first body jolted the truck, denting its fender, but sending the dead thing flying off the hood of the vehicle and onto the side of the road, where it landed. Hard. What ensued next could only be classified as a reanimated dead version of the domino effect. As more and more biters piled onto the road, Ten only increased his speed, striking the dead one after the other and sending them sprawling on all sides of the road. Of course, this quickly took its toll on the teen's vehicle. Similar, in fact, to the effects of hitting a fully grown male deer at a high speed. The front fender fell off the truck. The next strike sent Ten spiraling for a patch of woods on the side of the road.

"Motherfucker!" he hissed as the truck slid down the small hill on the side of the road, coming to an abrupt halt.

The teen had no time to contemplate his situation. The gnashing and hissing of hungry biters gaining on him was all the motivation he needed to get moving again. Snatching his sword from the passenger seat, he kicked the driver's side door open, knocking over the nearest biter approaching. In one fluid motion, he managed to strap the sword's ornate scabbard around his torso, pulling the sharpened steel from its container in a second movement, and swiftly dispatching the dead thing as it attempt to get back up. Glancing up, already more biters were beginning to muster off of the road, lumbering down the brief hill towards him and his vehicle. With nothing left to do, and sword still clutched tightly in his right hand, Ten turned and fled into the woods behind him.

The woods only seemed to get thicker and thicker as he ran, and several of the biters on his tail seemed to be getting caught in the foliage. In his frantic attempt to throw the undead monstrosities off of his trail, Ten had not been paying attention to his surroundings very well. If there was one thing the older teenager _wasn't, _it was graceful. A loose shoelace tangled with a thorny vine as he attempted to bolt past it, catching and tugging.

And then he's falling.

"_Son of a BITCH!" _he wanted to snap. But the pain forced him to keep his swearing to the confines of his head.

His problems only seemed to multiply. Some of the biters had broken off from the herd and managed to make their way through the convoluted mess of the woods, and were now just feet away from the grounded teenager—snarling, growling, gnashing their teeth with insatiable hunger.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Gunshots.

One by one, the biters collapsed, motionless, until there were no more. But Ten knew the herd had heard the gunshots. It'd only be a matter of time before an entire army of the dead were knocking down the trees on their way to a feast of the living. Suddenly there was a strong hand grasping the teen's arm, pulling him forcibly to his feet in an impressive display of might.

"RICK!" a female shrieked from somewhere behind him.

Rick?

"_Rick?_"

"Rick?" he finally managed through the throbbing pain in his head.

The man who had, in effect, saved Ten cocked his head at the sound of the teen saying his name. He had no time to ask about it, however, because the woman who had also called out to him, burst from the foliage, followed by a scruffy-looking redneck, armed with a crossbow. All three newcomers looked at Ten with quizzical bewilderment. Ten finally managed to subside the throbbing pain at the stem of his neck and look up to face his savior and his companions.

"Thanks for that," he gasped, filling his lungs with precious oxygen. "Thought I was about to be biter food."

"You said my name." The man replied, in what had to be the thickest southern accent Ten had ever heard in his young life.

"Yeah, about that. You wouldn't happen to be Rick Grimes, would you?"

The man froze, an expression of horrified revelation and utter confusion spreading its way across his chiseled face. "How do you know that?"

"_I'll take that as a yes._" Ten quipped sarcastically to himself. "I came looking for you. I... I know where your son is."

* * *

Author's Note: Finally got the prison group into it. The rest will appear a few chapters down the road. I'm still ironing out how Michonne enters the group in this AU, since it deviates from the television series in regards to who gets kidnapped in Woodbury. I may follow the comics _just_ this once in helping explain how she becomes part of the group. Either way, once I get that fully ironed out, I will show the rest of the prison crew.

Hope the chapter was to your satisfaction! Next time we'll start seeing a lot more of Rick and crew.

Until then, cheers!


	5. Chapter 4: The Plan

**Author's note:** Holy shit, that took me awhile to produce. Sorry for those of you I kept waiting! Finals week was treacherous, and with my birthday having been two days ago, and Christmas approaching, I have been so busy making preparations for family to arrive! That being said, do not be dismayed if I take a week or two to produce a chapter, because I am definitely still writing this, and intend to see it through to the end! Thank you all for being so patient with me and I hope this chapter is to your liking!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**"The Plan"**

* * *

When Ten had informed Rick that he knew of Carl's location, he had _not_ expected to have a gun shoved into his face.

Yet, that was the situation he now found himself in.

On his knees, sharp edges of sticks digging into his flesh through his denim jeans, hands up in surrender, and Rick's revolver firmly pressed into his forehead.

"You said you know where my son is?" Rick practically spat, causing Ten to recoil. "Spit it out!"

"Rick!" the woman, who must've been the Maggie that Carl had mentioned, screamed at him. "Don't do this. Not here, the herd will be coming!"

But Rick wasn't about to listen to her pleas. His eyes, blue as the morning sun, and not all that unlike his son's, were fixated on the younger teenager. Ten gulped, silently praying that he would make it out of this to help Carl escape.

"Tell me where he is, now!" the former cop shouted again.

"He's in a town a few miles south of here." Ten managed, his voice quivering with nervousness. "Its called Woodbury. Guy named Merle found him wandering near the walls."

Suddenly, Daryl's ears perked up and the redneck stepped forward, "Merle's there?!"

"Yes. You must be Daryl. Carl said Merle was your brother, but truth be told, most of us didn't even know he had a brother before I found out today." the teen replied. "Anyways, they're holding Carl in a cellar there. The Governor claims its because he's dangerous, but... I overheard him interrogating Carl. And then..."

The teen fell silent as he recalled Carl's less than favorable conditions this morning. Shriveled up in the corner of the cellar, black eye shining in the dimly lit room, and tears streaking down the porcelain skin of his cheek. For an instant, Ten forgot that he was on his knees with a gun to his head. Any sense of fear he had was replaced by a boiling, rising, anger. Rick must've noticed this because he gave the boy a questioning glance before slowly, almost hesitantly, lowering his weapon.

Ten shook the images from his head and stood abruptly, causing Rick and the other two to tense. Instead of moving to escape, as they seemed to expect him to, he took a step closer to Rick and drove the gaze of his own crystal blue eyes into the older man's.

"Look, we need to get back there and rescue your son. He's... he's not safe there." Ten declared boldly.

"What do you mean by that?" Daryl barked, almost as if _he_ had been accused of something.

Ten's glare shot over to the redneck, "Because your brother was one of the goons that treated him to nice big shiner on the eye this morning."

That shut _**everyone** _up.

"And if the Governor is willing to let his goons do that to a _child_, then he is capable of much worse." Ten snarled, anger flaring up for the second time. "I'm not going to stand around and watch it."

Rick gave Ten a very hard look, similar to the one Carl had given him just this morning. At that moment, it struck the teen how alike Rick and Carl looked. They had the same eyes—same piercing cerulean spheres that seemed to cut right through you—right down to the same studious look they gave those they were genuinely trying to understand.

"This 'Governor' you keep mentioning," Maggie spoke up, making up for Rick's silence. "Who is he?"

Ten gulped, then sighed, looking at the ground.

"He's the 'leader' of Woodbury, so to speak. Charismatic. Soft-spoken. Seemingly a caring, father-like figure. All lies. I had a bad feeling about him right from the start, but the man technically saved my life eight months ago when the world went to shit. You'd be surprised what you'd be willing to put up with when you're in fear for your life. But then all this happened and..." Ten trailed off again, only to shake his head of the haziness. "Anyways, no one knows his real name, or at least, I don't."

"This Governor. Woodbury." Rick finally spoke. "Is the town guarded?"

Ten nodded, "Its a walled community. Sentries at every entrance. Its like Jonestown 2.0 in there."

"Could you help us get in there? Sneak in through some weakness in their defenses?"

This time Ten managed a week smirk and a chuckle, "Oh yeah. I could get you in there. But hear me out first. If we go in there, we'll eventually get caught. The Governor's goons patrol the place pretty tight, and he keeps a close eye on Carl. And..." the boy sighed. "If he finds out Carl is missing, he'll know it is me. I've been charged with trying to find the location of Carl's group from him. Probably another one of the Governor's sick plans. I lied and said I would, but have been instead been trying to find a way to get Carl out of there. If he gets free, all fingers will be pointed at me."

The three newcomers were silent for a moment before Rick spoke again.

"You get us in there, help me find my son and get him out safely, you can come back with us." Rick declared.

Maggie seemed surprised by this, shooting Rick a wide-eyed glance. Daryl even seemed a little surprised, though it was hard for the teenager to read him. Clearly, Rick wasn't the type to take in newcomers. Still, Ten wasn't about to argue with this.

He nodded.

"I would help you get him out of there even if you didn't." Ten admitted. "Carl seems like a decent guy. I don't want the Governor changing that."

Rick smirked and nodded.

"What about Merle?" Daryl asked, more to Rick than Ten.

"What _about_ him?" Rick shot back.

"That's my brother!"

"And if this guy is right, your _brother_ beat up Carl while he wasn't capable of defending himself. I'm not concerned with Merle."

Ten suddenly found himself siding with Rick. Merle was one face he did **NOT** want to see after Woodbury, no matter who's sibling he was. Daryl, on the other hand, did not seem in the very least pleased with the response he got, but didn't say anything regardless.

"How do we get in?" Rick continued, now looking at Ten.

"There's a curfew at first dark. Most of the civilian survivors are indoors at that time. That only leaves a few goons on the walls and in the streets. I know a back way in through the storage area. I can get you in, get you to Carl, and then help you escape." Ten explained.

"Rick, what are we going to do if there is a gunfight?" Maggie interjected. "We have to be prepared just in case, and its just the three of us, four if you count him. Shouldn't we go back and at least get Glenn?"

Rick shook his head, "It'll take too much time. We have weapons and ammo, and him as our guide. We can do this."

"Speaking of that, how are we planning on getting there in the first place?" Daryl queried.

"We can take a vehicle, assuming you guys have one, and stop it about a mile out. Walk the rest of the way. It'll be hard, though. That herd took out my vehicle." the teenager replied.

"Walkers we can handle." Rick snapped, turning and beginning to walk in the other direction. "We can take our cars. You show us the way. Oh, by the way, what's your name?"

Ten had almost forgotten about that, "Silus Tennison. But most people call me Ten."

The sound of rustling brush and the familiar snarls of the biters, making their way even closer, caused the group to break off their conversation and begin to jog back to Greenville. Ten couldn't help smile to himself. Despite the way that Rick had initially confronted him, he seemed like a decent man. Even Maggie, and to a lesser extent, Daryl seemed decent enough, though Ten suspected that Daryl was only antsy because of the mention of his brother. Minutes later, the group of four cleared the treeline and made a beeline for their SUV.

The rescue operation had begun.

* * *

Carl had no idea how long the torment had been going on.

Minutes? Maybe hours?

The frail teen could feel his cheeks swelling, skin hot with pain, veins and arteries pulsating with each beat of his frantic heart after the brutal beating that had been unloaded on him. Merle again, of course. Even in the midst of the intensity of his pain, Carl was stunned at the differences between Daryl and Merle. Daryl would never degrade a child to this degree. But Merle? Merle was the lowest scum the human race could offer. He was willing to do anything, at any cost, and all for his own vanity. The Governor Ten had spoken of must have sent him down to get more information out of Carl. And when the teen refused to deliver, he was mercilessly beaten.

Now he lay sprawled out on the cold concrete, struggling to stay conscious. In his current state, tears weren't even possible. The ducts were blocked by the swelling of his eyes and face making even attempting to cry an excruciating experience. Carl Grimes had not been in this much pain in his entire life. Certainly not as a result of being physically beaten. Even now, his attacker circled over him, cackling as he observed the young boy writhe in pain.

"You going to tell me where they are now?!" the redneck snarled.

Truth be told, Carl couldn't talk. Even if he had wanted to. The pain was too much. Even moving his lips to speak would be excruciating. So, he was unable to answer or even retort Merle's question.

Merle took his silence for permission to continue with his sadistic onslaught, raining down a series of solid kicks to the boy's abdomen that made Carl collapse inward, using his scrawny arms to protect his stomach to the best of his ability. The sudden blows caused him to lurch forward, spitting out a small puddle of blood in the process.

Above him, Merle chuckled, "You've got a lot of balls, kid. I'll give you that. I'm gettin' hungry, so I'll let you take a little nap. Let's start this again in a few hours."

Carl didn't bother watching the monster leave. His eyes were tightly screwed shut as he desperately attempted to shut out the pain. He wanted to scream in anger and rage, but his body wouldn't let him. Tears weren't possible. In many ways, he wished Merle had just ended it so the aching that was now coursing through his body, as well as the overwhelming humiliation that was sweeping over him, would come to an end. The weight of such heavy emotions were taking almost as much of a toll on Carl's body as his wounds were and soon fatigue ruled the boy's body and mind. His last fleeting thought before the darkness came was of his father.

_Have you found him yet... Ten?_

* * *

Ten had found him. And the situation he was in now, was a very perplexing one.

Ten felt strange in the SUV, seated in close proximity to Maggie. Daryl was in the front passenger seat next to Rick, who was driving. It had been a very long time since Ten had found himself traveling like this with other people. Since before the Turn, in fact. It had an oddly unsettling effect on him. Nevermind the fact that just moments ago, the driver had put a gun to his head and driven him to his knees. The teenager shook his head of the distracting thoughts, suddenly aware that they were far from out of the woods just yet. Ahead was the herd, but Rick seemed to have no intention of getting into another gunfight with the oncoming creepers. Swerving around them, he immediately began to rapidly increase his rate of speed, flying past the rather sluggish undead. Of course, the sheer number of them made this task fairly difficult, and the former officer was now darting all over the road, causing Ten to begin to seriously consider that he might get whiplash if this continued.

Finally, the SUV broke loose of the herd and jolted ahead of them as Rick further increased the vehicle's speed, causing a deafening roar to be emitted from the overtaxed engine. Ten had never been so happy to see the open road since the Turn started. Creepers on their own were terrifying enough, but an entire herd of them was enough to drive Ten's overactive anxiety to its absolute limitations. As soon as the herd was dwindling from sight in the vehicle's rear view mirror, Rick broke the pervasive silence that had dominated the inside of the SUV since leaving Greenville.

"So," Rick's voice seemed to be full of uncertainty. Gone was the previous hostility that had been in his voice earlier. "You've seen Carl? In this... town of yours."

So that was it.

Ten's eyes adverted from the window he was leaning against, eyeing the back of the scruffy Southern man's head. The question was clearly intended for him, but he hadn't expected Rick to regard him with questions, much less speech at all, until his son was safe. He quickly became aware that Maggie was watching him and even Daryl had leaned back and twisted around to level his gaze with the younger boy.

"Yeah," Ten replied nervously. "I've seen him. Twice, to be exact."

_And neither in a particularly good condition._

He couldn't add that though. He had seen a glimpse of Rick's fury earlier and he did _not_ want a repeat of that. He had already revealed probably more than he should've by telling Rick about his son's injuries when he had seen him this morning. Nevertheless, his answer didn't sate the older man's desire to know more.

"Why?"

Now that was a peculiar question. Certainly not one Ten had been expecting, of all the questions that could have been asked of him. The younger's eyebrows craned a bit at this, and Rick must've picked up on this, having seen his expression through the rear view mirror.

"I mean, why were you able to see him? You said he was a captive, but you weren't particularly keen on letting him stay that way, so why did they let you near him?" Rick clarified.

_Oh._

"That," Ten stuttered. "Is hard to explain, but I'll do my best. I know the Governor's intentions because I overheard it by accident. Merle must recognize Carl from some prior meeting your lot had with him. The Governor was interested in weeding out your group for some god awful reason, no doubt, but Carl wasn't having any of it. They wanted to use me to make Carl give up your location. Even told me that you lot might be a threat."

At this, all three of Rick's group tensed.

"Relax." the teenager quickly asserted. "I immediately dismissed any idea of entertaining the Governor's plan, but I had to pretend I was if I was to help Carl out."

"Why would you want to help Carl out?" It was Maggie this time. Ten's words had seemingly spurred her interests. "You didn't know him, and for all you knew, we really _could_ have been a threat to your town."

_These people sure are full of questions._

"Let's just say I know what its like to be scared and alone in this world." Ten replied, flashing back to the moments after his family died, to the empty roads long abandoned on the way out of Atlanta, and to the moments that led up to his being brought to Woodbury. "I didn't want someone else to have to feel that way. Least of all someone younger than me."

That seemed to satisfy her and the other two, as a result.

The rest of the ride went much like the earlier portions of it. Silence reigned. Rick focused on the road, but Daryl, Maggie, and I gazed out of our individual windows; raptured up into our imaginary dream worlds, thinking of our loved ones, or something other than the hell of a world we currently inhabited. So the abrupt stop caught me somewhat off guard. Glancing out the window, I noticed that Rick had pulled the SUV off of the road, parking it just within the treeline so that it wouldn't be seen from the road. Surveying his surroundings, Ten deduced that they were about a mile or two away from Woodbury's first gates. So Rick was sticking to his plan after all. The group of four disembarked the vehicle, snatching up their weapons and strapping them to themselves in various ways before closing the van doors. In the sky, the familiar tent of burnt orange suggested that night was nearing.

"You lead the way." Rick spoke up, approaching Ten with an air of apprehension. "Everyone else stay alert."

Maggie and Daryl nodded wordlessly. Ten glanced uncertainly around at his new teammates before joining them with a nod. With a firm dominant hand on the sword at his waist, he began to walk ahead of the group into the woods. The three others shared another worried glance between each other before cautiously following after the teenager.

And as they did, the sky began to darken. Night had arrived.


End file.
